Changing Sheets

I change my sheets to say goodbye.
Ungracefully, I untuck the corners;
I yank the elastic up from under the mattress.
Lazily, I pull at the side opposite me.

There is blood on the sheets, and a coffee stain.
Lint from your black hoody, black cat hairs,
my hairs. It’s been awhile.

I unravel a set of soft white cotton sheets,
fresh from the laundry, warm. I wave
the top sheet over the bottom. It floats,
suspended on a sigh.

I pull from a corner to coax the wrinkles
out of my bed. But, not carefully enough.
It tears; soft linen sliced.